Paper Birds
by TheInvisibleQuestion
Summary: After discovering the truth behind her mother's murder, Kate Beckett convinces a willing Jarod and an unenthusiastic Parker to help her destroy the Centre once and for
1. Chapter 1

The door swung on its hinges when she knocked. The bolt was busted open, and Parker eased the door open with her hip, keeping her gun raised in case whoever had busted the lock was still hanging around. The apartment on the other side was clean and tidy, but not upscale by any means. She checked the hallway first, but didn't bother with the bedroom. She didn't want surprises, but she also didn't want to waste time.

A small, fairly old TV sat on a small table across from a sofa. In front of the sofa lay a man in a pool of blood that was rapidly staining the beige carpet. Aside from the blood, he looked like he'd fallen asleep and rolled off the sofa. Parker bent down to inspect the body. There were no marks aside from the double gunshot to the chest that had killed him. There was nothing else of interest in the living room, so Parker went into the kitchen.

A mug and a spoon sat soaking in the kitchen sink. The coffee pot was half full. An appointment reminder was stuck to the fridge, and a corner of red peeked out from below the refrigerator.

Parker slid the notebook out and flipped it open. There wasn't anything special at first glance—just the standard newspaper clippings and a few lines of highlighting—so she tucked it under one arm. She looked over the kitchen again, but there was nothing else left for her. She was about to walk back out of the apartment when she heard the door burst open and half a dozen sets of heavy footsteps. "NYPD!" a woman's voice shouted. Parker rolled her eyes. This was just what she needed right now.

A woman in heels and Kevlar rounded the corner into the kitchen, her gun raised. "NYPD, put your hands up!" she demanded. Parker put her hands in the air and the notebook fell to the floor. She shook her head and swore she'd get her revenge on Jarod for this.

* * *

"So," said Kate, slapping a file on the table as she walked into the interrogation room. "What were you doing in Mr. Reynolds' apartment?"

"Looking for someone," the woman with the bright red lipstick replied.

Of course she was. Wasn't everyone in this case? "And Mr. Reynolds was in your way, so you decided you'd put a bullet to his chest?"

Miss Hot Lips Parker looked annoyed. "I didn't shoot. He was dead when I walked in."

Kate knew this was a woman who could kill a man without a second thought. In fact, that's probably what she did for a living. "You refused to give your first name, Miss Parker. Any reason why?"

"I could tell you who shot him, though," Hot Lips said, completely ignoring Kate. "I could solve your entire case right now."

That was a pretty bold claim, coming from a woman who wore short, tight skirts, leather jackets, and four-inch heels. "Really, Miss Parker? You think you can solve an ongoing multiple homicide without knowing the details, and still manage to convince me you didn't kill anyone?"

"Oh, I've killed people, honey," Hot Lips said. "But not anyone in your—what did you call it?—ongoing multiple homicide."

"Do you recognize this man?" Kate asked, sliding a sketch across the table. Hot Lips froze for a fraction of a second, but Kate's detective eyes didn't miss it.

"He looks familiar. Why?"

Kate took the sketch back and slid it into the manila folder. "He was seen going to Mr. Reynolds' apartment almost every night around seven for the past few weeks."

"He's not your killer, if that's what you're asking." Hot Lips folded her arms across her chest, one eyebrow arched.

"Then you know him?"

"I know your killer," Hot Lips said.

A knock came at the door. Kate exchanged glares with her suspect before slipping out the door. Ryan held the ballistics report. "It wasn't her gun that killed Reynolds." He looked past Kate's shoulder at the brooding woman in the interrogation room, cringing a little.

Kate frowned. There was a whole lot Hot Lips wasn't saying—and not just her name—and Kate had a feeling the information was related to the case. "Thanks." She went back into the interrogation room, trying to paste a poker face over her scowl.

"What's the ballistics report, Detective?" Hot Lips asked. "Let me guess. I didn't kill Reynolds."

Kate didn't answer.

Hot Lips smiled. "You want me to stay and tell you who your killer is? How to find him?" She paused. "Forget it. You'd never catch him."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "You seem pretty sure of yourself, Miss Parker."

Hot Lips stood out of her chair, bringing herself to Kate's height. "Even if I told you, you wouldn't be able to scrape enough evidence to convict him. Your killer is untouchable, Detective." Kate fought to keep her eyes locked with the other woman's. "But you already know that, don't you?" She walked out of the interrogation room, leaving Kate speechless.

When Kate finally regained her wits and walked out after Hot Lips, the other woman was standing in the middle of the hallway, fingers squeezing her temples. She turned as Kate edged closer. One word fell from her bright red lips: "Johanna." It sounded like a question, dribbled out against its speaker's will.

Kate froze. Her pulse jumped, and she could feel panic setting in. Hot Lips looked confused for a moment before she regained her composure and walked out of the precinct.

Kate turned and bolted for the ladies' room. What was that? Kate felt her chest tighten, drowning her in the air that was suddenly too thin. She pressed her forehead against the cold metal of the stall, took out her phone, and dialed Castle's number. Her finger hovered over the send button. Castle was writing, and what would Kate say, anyway? Nothing that wouldn't make him worry.

Kate walked out of the stall, splashed cold water on her face, and went back to work. The rabbit hole could wait.

* * *

Parker found Broots at the vending machine, trying to coax a bag of Funyuns out. She hit the machine and the bag fell to the retrieval slot.

Broots jumped. "Miss Parker!" he said nervously, picking the Funyuns out of the machine and avoiding her gaze. "I was just, uh, getting—"

"I want you to search the archives for any mention of the name Johanna," Parker interrupted.

"Of course," he said. "Uh, any particular reason—"

"Just do it," she sneered, and walked away. Sydney knew more about this whole Inner Sense thing than anyone. Maybe he'd know who Johanna was.

Sydney was in his office, as usual; he rarely worked in the labs now. He put down the book he was reading when Parker walked in. "Miss Parker," he said. "How was New York?"

"Well, I didn't catch your Monkey Boy," she sneered, dropping into the chair across from Sydney. "Vanished, as usual."

"And the notebook?"

"Lyle confiscated it the second I got back," Parker said. "The usual nonsense, anyway." Parker hadn't been able to keep one of Jarod's red notebooks since shortly after Carthis, when she and Lyle were set against each other in a race to find Jarod.

Sydney nodded, studying Parker thoughtfully. "Something else is bothering you," he said.

Parker scowled at a wall. "I heard them again," she said.

"What did you hear?" asked Sydney.

Parker began to pace slowly. "Johanna," she said.

"What do you think it means?" Sydney asked. Always the psychiatrist.

"I don't know." Parker pinched the bridge of her nose. "Broots is searching the archives." Parker snorted sarcastically. "Maybe it'll help me find Jarod."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Look at your address bar. Now look at me. Now your address bar. Now back to me. Sadly, your address bar says fanfiction. I'm just playing in a sandbox._

_Also worth noting is that this is an AU which diverges from Castle canon after season four, and contains no spoilers for season five. The AU differs from the Pretender canon on a few matters of timing: much of the timeline of the Pretender plotline has been shifted forward so as to align more fluidly with the Castle timeline._


	2. Chapter 2

When he went on writing sprees like this, Rick Castle deliberately erased the flow of time. He shut himself in the office, blacked out the windows, covered the clocks, and used a nifty little widget to hide all the clocks on his computer. The desk in the office was littered with Pop-Tart wrappers, dirty plates and bowls, and one very filthy coffee mug.

He'd finally finished the writing that needed done, and he realized he was famished. He dug his phone and keys out of his desk drawer and dropped them into his pocket. He had no idea what time it was, and so when he stepped outside, he was surprised to find the sun high in the sky: lunchtime. It was a nice day, and he'd been cooped up so long (somewhere around two days, judging by how many times he'd had to eat and sleep), he decided to forgo a cab and instead started down the street for a nearby Italian place.

Two blocks from his apartment, a man in a leather jacket was reading Green Eggs and Ham. Intrigued, Castle slowed his pace to study this strange man, who looked up and asked, "Excuse me. I hate to bother you, but would you happen to know where I could find green eggs and ham?"

Castle looked at this stranger curiously for a moment, and then laughed. "You know what, I do." They'd only just met, but Castle's writer instincts told him that there was a story to this man who read children's books on sidewalks. "Come on. I was on my way to grab a bite, anyway."

"Really?"

Castle nodded.

"I'm Jarod Woodson, by the way." He extended his hand, and Castle shook it heartily.

"I'm Rick Castle." He flagged down a cab and gave the driver the address of a little breakfast-and-lunch diner in Midtown. "You know, I used to read that to my daughter when she was a kid."

Jarod smiled. "It's an interesting book. Seuss writes some very interesting things for a doctor."

"He's not a doctor," Castle said. "Just a writer. Didn't you ever read them as a kid?"

"I didn't have much freedom of reading when I was growing up." Jarod smiled sadly, and Castle noticed his fingers tighten a little around the children's book in his lap.

Castle's mind was already racing to write the story of this stranger. "Strict parents?" he guessed.

Jarod hesitated. "Something like that."

Parents a touchy subject, Castle noted. 'Something like that' was nearly always a way of saying 'it's very painful and nothing at all like that'. Castle knew he only had a short time with this stranger, so he moved to a different topic. "Do you often read children's books on street corners?"

Jarod nodded. "I find them very fascinating. Have you read Curious George?"

"Only about a thousand times," Castle said. He'd read that one to Alexis, too.

Hope lit up Jarod's face. "Maybe you can help me. Do you know who the man in the yellow hat is?"

Castle grinned. Alexis had asked him the same question. "He's just the man in the yellow hat. He doesn't have a name," Castle explained. "Sorry."

Jarod seemed disappointed. "Well, thank you anyway."

Castle nodded, casting around for more conversation. "Any other good reads lately?"

Jarod smirked. "A few. Einstein's Relativity was a bit dry."

"Did you read that one for fun?" Castle joked.

"I was studying astrophysics."

Castled wondered if Jarod was also joking. "You're a physicist?"

Jarod shrugged. "Sometimes."

Castle narrowed his eyes.

"What do you do?" Jarod asked.

"I'm a writer. I write crime novels."

"Anything I might have read?" Jarod asked.

"Well, there's the Derrick Storm novels…"

Recognition sparked in Jarod's eyes. "Oh, I think I read a few of those."

"And my new series, the Nikki Heat novels."

"Of course—Richard Castle." Jarod nodded. Castle was surprised and relieved that Jarod didn't suddenly go into fanboy mode. Castle welcomed human company after his solitude, but it would be a few hours yet until he was prepared to deal with rabid fans.

The cab stopped then and let them out. Castle paid the driver and ushered his new friend into the restaurant. It was busy, but most of the patrons were finishing their lunches. Castle found a little booth in the corner and ordered a couple of waters along with two Seuss specials. The waitress raised an eyebrow, but jotted the order on her notepad anyway. "So what do you do, Jarod? When you're not an astrophysicist."

Jarod shrugged. "Oh, this and that. Right now I'm working as an independent contractor. Doing some refurbishing on a few old buildings around town."

Contractor on old buildings with the last name Woodson. Castle wondered if that was a coincidence. His inner plot machine rejected the idea of a coincidence. "So you're a contractor, Mr. Woodson? Interesting."

Jarod smiled. "It's not the most exciting job I've had, but I like it."

"What's the most exciting job you've had?" Castle asked.

Jarod thought for a moment. "I was a test pilot once."

"A test pilot, an astrophysicist, and now you're a contractor? How'd you manage that?"

Jarod shrugged. "I'm a quick study."

The waitress came back with their waters. "Your food should be done in a few minutes."

"Thanks," Castle said before turning back to Jarod.

"What about you?" Jarod asked. "What was your most exciting job?"

Castle thought about saying his 'job' as a consultant with the NYPD was the most exciting, but that wasn't going to move the conversation where Castle wanted it to go. "Being a father," he answered instead. It was the most exciting job he'd ever had, but not in the same way as being a test pilot.

"That would be an adventure, I'm sure." The smile on Jarod's face was too forced to hide the fathomless emptiness there.

"What about your family?" Castle asked. "You seem like a family kind of guy."

Jarod shook his head. "I was taken from my parents as a child. I escaped about six years ago, and I've been searching for them ever since."

"I'm sorry," Castle said, suddenly having second thoughts about wanting to know this man's story.

Jarod shook his head. "They're still alive. At least, my mother and sister are. I'll find them someday."

"I hope you do," Castle said. He was saved from having to come up with a change of topic by the arrival of green eggs, ham, and green milk.

Jarod looked curiously at the milk. "Is it safe?" he asked. "It looks… interesting."

"It's just food dye. Were you a germophobe once, too?" Castle joked.

"Virologist," Jarod corrected seriously, sniffing the milk. He tasted it, and then picked up his fork and tried the eggs. "They just taste like eggs," he said, perplexed. "They're very good, though."

Castle nodded. "That's the idea."

Jarod looked slightly disappointed, but he ate the rest of his meal with almost as much gusto as Castle. When the waitress brought around the check, Castle paid it, waving off Jarod's attempts to pay his share.

"The company and the conversation was payment enough," Castle said. "I've been off-grid writing for two days. Human contact is much appreciated." Speaking of off-grid… Castle pulled his phone out and turned it on. He'd completely forgotten when he'd left the loft.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Castle."

"Seriously, call me Rick." Castle scribbled his cell number on the back of the receipt and handed it to Jarod. "If you run across any more interesting things in children's books, call me." Castle grinned and picked up his phone. He had three missed calls, all from Gina. He cringed. Calls from Gina were never a good sign.

"Problem?" Jarod asked.

"Just my publisher," Castle said, shrugging. "Probably asking where my manuscript is." He stuck his phone back into his pocket.

"Well," Jarod said, standing. "Thank you for the educational meal, but I've got to get to work."

Castle stood and offered Jarod his hand. "Astrophysics, right, right. Or was it woodworking?" He smirked, and they shook hands. "Good to meet you, Jarod," Castle said.

"You too," Jarod answered, shaking Castle's hand firmly.

Castle walked out of the restaurant behind Jarod, only to find that Jarod had vanished into the ether.


	3. Chapter 3

Parker sat at her desk, staring at the portrait of her mother that lived there. Broots was still working on finding out who Johanna was, and Parker hadn't seen Sydney since the previous morning.

Someone knocked on her door. "What?" she snapped.

Sydney came in, closing the door gently behind him and taking the seat in front of the desk.

"Oh, the hermit's out of his cave?" Parker remarked.

"I just needed to do a little research," he said.

"Well? Did you find anything?"

"I can't tell you exactly what was said," Sydney prefaced. "But I can tell you that your mother mentioned a woman she called Jo. Catherine didn't mention her until our later sessions, and she never said who the woman was, other than a friend."

"Jo… Short for Johanna?" Parker guessed.

"It's possible," Sydney said, shrugging. Another knock sounded at the door before Sydney could say anything else.

Broots came in, a folder clutched in his sweaty, tense fingers.

"Please tell me you have something," Parker said.

"Well," he said nervously. "I found, uh, twelve different Johannas in the system." He handed her the folder, which contained nothing but a list of the names.

She sneered and thrust it back at him. "This doesn't help me. I need to know who they are."

"Well, if you had any parameters, I could, uh, narrow it d-down," Broots answered meekly.

"Just get me some profiles," Parker said.

Broots nodded and shuffled out of the room. Parker sat back in her chair moodily, wishing she had a cigarette.

* * *

"What have we got?" Kate asked, striding into the morgue.

Lanie eyed Kate for a minute or so before launching into her usual report. "Like I said, your boy was shot twice in the chest."

"One shot wasn't good enough?"

Lanie shook her head. "Not exactly. Either one of the shots would have killed."

"So the killer wanted to make sure he was good and dead?" Kate asked.

"I think it's an M.O.," Lanie answered. "Parkins and Reiner were killed with the same double-gunshot."

Kate blinked. "You think this was a serial killer?"

Lanie put up her hands. "It just looks an awful lot like some recent bodies that have crossed my table."

Kate frowned.

"And what about you, girl?" Lanie said, folding her arms across her chest. "You look an awful lot like some bodies that cross my table."

Kate blinked. "I'm fine," she said, shrugging.

"Mm-hmm," Lanie said in obvious disbelief.

Kate's phone buzzed in her pocket. She answered without even looking at the screen. "Beckett," she said automatically.

"Don't sound so happy to hear from me," Castle's rich tenor rumbled in her ear.

"Hey, Castle," Kate said, rolling her eyes.

"Where are you?" he asked, and she could hear the sultry notes in his voice.

"At the morgue."

Castle suppressed a cough. "Seriously? Working?"

"The dead don't die on schedule," Kate said.

"Too bad. Do you have time for dinner later?" Castle asked.

"Maybe," Kate said.

Castle's smile was audible. "It's a date, Beckett."

She hung up and Lanie, while obviously not satisfied, seemed appeased enough for the moment that Kate could make an easy escape. "I'm going back to the precinct. Text me if anything else comes up."

* * *

At the precinct, Kate couldn't focus. She sat at her desk and tried not to stare too much at the hallway past Interrogation. That Parker woman had said she knew who the killer was.

She forced her eyes back to the murder board for the ninetieth time. Something was missing, something that linked the victim and the killer, but the only thing Kate could think of was Reynolds' nightly visitor. Despite what Hot Lips Parker said, it was just too coincidental that Reynolds' estimated time of death was between six and eight in the evening.

"Are the gremlins drawing lines yet?" Castle murmured behind her before dropping into his chair next to her desk. It was almost eight o'clock, and the precinct was mostly empty.

Kate frowned at the board. Your killer is untouchable, Detective. But you already know that, don't you? "The connection is there, but I haven't found it yet."

"Tell me all about it over dinner," Castle suggested. "Maybe a fresh pair of eyes'll help."

"It's here, I know it is," Kate said, rubbing her forehead.

"It'll be here tomorrow."

"He's killed three people already, and he doesn't show signs of stopping here."

Castle leaned across the desk. "You're not going to be any help if you drop dead of starvation, either." He sounded like he was making light, but Kate could see his worry in the lines of his face.

They exchanged stares for a long moment before Castle made a goofy face. Kate rolled her eyes and collected her jacket.

* * *

Beckett refused to let him drive, even though he wanted to take her somewhere new. Something was off, and Rick worried about her. She was tense, and it seemed so sudden. Sure, he hadn't seen her or talked to her for two days, but she'd seemed so happy the last time he'd seen her. He never wanted to go on one of his writing sprees again; he didn't even know when this change had started.

Rick directed her to parking and then led her into the little diner. Without the board or a car to occupy her, she seemed to droop in the seat like she was exhausted. "You look tired," he commented.

"I'm fine," she said. Even her shrug seemed weary.

"Maybe you should sleep in tomorrow," he suggested. "I'm sure Gates will understand."

Beckett shook her head. "I'm fine," she insisted.

Rick didn't really believe her. After they'd finished dinner, Beckett dropped him off at the loft.

"Promise me you'll go home and sleep," Rick said.

"I'm fine, Castle. I can take care of myself."

"Just promise. For me?"

Beckett rolled her eyes. "Yeah, okay. I promise."

As she drove off, Rick felt something twist like a knife in his stomach. She was keeping things to herself, stuffing them down and trying to tamp a lid on them. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd found another rabbit hole and wasn't telling him.

* * *

Jarod called around one in the morning. Parker knew it was him before she even answered; he was the only person in the world with the uncanny ability to know when she couldn't sleep. "What?" she answered, her usual sharpness dulled by fatigue.

"I'm surprised you didn't come after me yesterday," Jarod said.

"No, I was held up by the lovely people at the NYPD," she sneered. "Thanks for that."

"That wasn't me," he told her. "Cross my heart. I heard Lyle's back in town."

Jarod had sent her twin off on an elaborate little goose chase that had kept him running in circles for almost two weeks. "Yeah. He killed Reynolds."

"He what?"

Parker shook her head. She had a tendency to forget that Jarod was still very sensitive to people being murdered. "What do you know about Johanna?"

"You ask as if you expect me to answer, Miss Parker. I think you forget how many questions you've failed to answer." He sounded resentful, and she knew why: she'd been hunting him for six years now. The chase was beginning to wear, even for her.

"I don't know the answers, and even if I did, I couldn't tell you." After so many years of these games, volleying back and forth like this was second nature. "Have you heard from Ethan?" she asked. It was a standard question in their game, a legal move since the last time they'd seen each other. They both cared about the half-brother they shared, but he'd vanished into thin air just before the debacle at Carthis. Neither of them had heard from him, though Parker knew he was still alive: she trusted her Inner Sense that far.

"No," he answered. "Have you heard anything?"

"He's out there, but I haven't heard from him." This was as friendly as any of their conversations ever really got, and Parker knew it was time for the ending move.

"And here we are again," Jarod said. "Six years, and still no answers."


	4. Chapter 4

Broots stood in Parker's doorway, shifting from foot to foot like a four year old who needed to pee.

"If you've got something useful, spit it out, and stop doing the Potty Dance."

Broots walked up to her desk, a folder in one hand. He looked pleased with himself. "There was a Johanna from New York in the Centre archives who was listed as a potential candidate for Prodigy." Broots handed Parker a photo of a dark-haired woman. "Johanna Beckett was her name."

"Beckett?" Parker asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing. What else?"

"Well, she, uh, she was a lawyer in Manhattan, but she was killed fourteen years ago."

"And?" Parker prompted.

"That's all I have."

"Well, then, I guess you have work to do, don't you?"

"Yes, of course." Broots shuffled out. Parker looked at the photo in her hand. The woman looked a bit like the detective. Was it possible that the detective herself had been screened for the Pretender anomaly as a child? Parker tucked the photo into her pocket.

* * *

Johanna, they whispered. Ethan had no idea who Johanna was, but her name woke him every night now. Lately the voices had been less like whispers and more like muffled yells in his mind. He should call his brother or his sister, ask if they knew who Johanna was. Ethan had avoided contacting either of his half-siblings because he was on the run, as he had been for the last year, and he knew contacting them could put them in danger. But he didn't know who Johanna was, and every instinct told him she was important.

He put it off for almost two weeks, but his Inner Sense kept repeating the name, and he finally gave in and found a pay phone to call from.

"What?" Parker answered.

Ethan took a deep breath, trying to calm his breathing enough to speak. "I have to ask you something."

"Ethan!" she breathed. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Running," he said, looking over his shoulder. The warning bells in his mind grew louder. "I'm fine."

"You didn't leave a note," Parker said. She sounded worried.

"I didn't have time." Ethan knew his sister wasn't as sensitive as he was; his Inner Sense had just barely saved him. "Who is Johanna?"

"Your Inner Sense?" Parker asked.

"Did you hear it, too?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "I think her name is Johanna Beckett. I don't know much about her, but I'm working on it."

"She's important," Ethan said.

"Have you called Jarod?"

"I can't," he said. He could feel the panic of his Inner Sense screaming at him to run. "I shouldn't have called you. I have to go." He heard her start to say something as he hung up, hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders, and ran.

* * *

Broots looked way too pleased with himself. "Well, I searched through the Centre archives, and apparently, Johanna Beckett worked on a 'special project' with a colleague from Delaware. I did a little digging, and there wasn't much information on this project, because it was apparently very secret, and because it was never finished."

"Why?"

"Well, her colleague was murdered before the project was finished. The only thing I could find about the project was a couple of letters from Johanna, but I think they wrote in a code, because I can't make heads or tails of anything."

Parker handed the photos back to Broots. "You might be good for something after all," she said. "But I want to know what this project was, and if my mother might have been involved."

Broots nodded. "I'll do my best." He ducked out of the room, and Parker rubbed her temples. There had to be some reason she heard that name, and she was determined to find it.

* * *

Alexis sat in her favorite coffee shop, books piled on the table in front of her, writing a report. The place was packed, typical of a Saturday. She'd come in almost as soon as the shop opened to secure her table.

She'd just put the finishing touches on the body of her paper, and was about to start in on the conclusion when a dark-haired guy asked if he could share her table. His backpack told her he was a student, and he looked about the right age. She nodded and he thanked her with a smile. Alexis noticed he didn't let go of his backpack; it was almost as if he expected he would have to jump up and leave at any moment, and he couldn't possibly leave it behind.

"I'm Alexis, by the way," she said. He seemed nice, and she thought he looked like someone she'd seen around campus.

"Ethan," he replied. He squeezed his eyes shut like he had a burning headache.

"Are you okay?" Alexis asked.

Ethan nodded. "I'm alright. It's just a headache." Alexis noticed he was unusually soft-spoken.

"Do you need an aspirin? I've got some."

Ethan shook his head, blinking and raising his head again. "No, but thanks. I'm allergic."  
Alexis nodded and went back to her paper, but something about her new table mate intrigued her too much for her to properly focus. He dug a battered brown notebook out of his backpack and studied its pages. "Good reading?" she asked when he looked up and frowned thoughtfully at the walls.

He smiled at her joke. "A habit," he said. "Re-reading a few things I wrote."

"Are you a writer?" Alexis asked.

"No," Ethan said. "I'm looking for someone."

"Someone in particular?"

"I don't know," he said. "It's complicated." He frowned at the notebook. "I don't know much about her. I don't even know if she's still alive."

"Maybe I can help. It's a big city, but someone's go to know something, right?"

"My sister tells me her name is Johanna Beckett."

Alexis froze. "Beckett?"

"Yes. Do you know her?" Ethan asked eagerly.

"No. I think my gram used to know someone named Johanna, but she's been dead for years." It was close enough to the truth, and Alexis hoped he hadn't noticed her moment of panic. Alexis had a very strong desire to call her dad right then and there, but she could call him later; he'd be there this evening, and Ethan looked like he could disappear into the aether if Alexis so much as blinked.

"Dead?" Ethan looked disappointed.

"Well, she might not be the same Johanna," Alexis offered. "D'you know what? I bet Google could tell us something." She pulled her laptop out of her backpack, woke it up, and headed straight for her browser. She typed in Johanna Beckett New York City, wondering if anything would actually come up. She searched the news section, but nothing useful came up.

"Do you have access to the news archives?" Ethan asked. "Maybe the obituaries, in case she's the Johanna your grandmother knew."

Alexis nodded, and she and Ethan searched through news archive after news archive until an article came up about Johanna Beckett's murder case. Alexis knew who it was by the photo—she'd seen a photo of Kate's mom once or twice—before she even read the article.

"She was a lawyer," Ethan said, skimming the article. "Worked with less fortunate or neglected cases. Victim of gang violence."

Except she wasn't, Alexis knew. She'd been murdered by a professional hit man.

"This is only about her death," Ethan said. He sat back, rubbing at his temples.

"It says she was thirty-nine when she died," Alexis said. "That's at least twenty years she might have spent doing things that didn't make it into that article."

Ethan nodded. "You're right. Do you have a phone I could borrow?"

"You don't have one?"

"I don't usually keep a phone with me. I'm sort of… on the run. I try to stay off the grid, mostly."

Alexis blinked. On the run? "Only if you promise my phone isn't going to be accessory to some kind of crime."

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked.

"My dad works with cops. You can only use my phone if you promise you're not going to call your partner in crime."

"No crimes," Ethan said. "I promise."

Alexis took her phone out of her pocket. "If you're not on the run from officials, then who are you on the run from?"

"I suppose you could call them my guardians," Ethan said.

Alexis handed him her phone. He dialed, and whoever was on the other line answered immediately. "Anything new?" A long pause. "I'll call him when I can." A shorter pause. "Sure thing." He hung up, fiddled with the phone for a moment, and handed it back.

"That was short," Alexis said. The number he'd dialed was gone from her lists.

"She's my sister," Ethan said. "She's been looking for Johanna, too. She thinks our mother might have known her." He seemed in awe of this revelation.

"Your mother?"

"She died when I was born. Well, she was killed." Ethan shook his head. "Sorry. I won't give you my life story."

"Life stories are interesting," Alexis said.

Ethan eyed her empty mug. "Coffee?"

"Tea," Alexis corrected.

"I think I could use a cup. Do you want a refill while I'm up?"

Alexis smirked. "Are you trying to buy me a drink?"

"I guess so," Ethan answered. He took her mug and went to stand in line. The line was actually fairly short, a lull in the usual Saturday chaos.

When he came back, a paper cup in one hand and a steaming mug in the other, Alexis asked, "So, how about that story?"

"I was brought up in a very strict place. I didn't have much of a childhood. I escaped a couple of years ago—or I was let off. I'm still not entirely sure. Since then, the people I escaped from have been chasing me. They want me back, and there hasn't yet been a limit to what they'll do to catch me."

"Why?"

"Because… I'm a special project. I have training and special skills."

"So does that make you Iron Man or Spiderman?" Alexis teased.

Ethan looked confused. "I don't—"

"Batman? Superman? Aquaman? The Flash? The Green Lantern?"

Ethan's confusion only grew.

Alexis sighed. "Comic book superheroes. You really didn't have much of a childhood."

"Oh. No, I wasn't allowed to choose what I read, and I wasn't allowed to watch television or anything. I was kept inside most of the time."

Alexis wasn't sure what to say. She stared into her tea mug. Silence fell between them. Ethan fingered the pages of his notebook.

Alexis bit her lip. She was going to be so, so dead. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"Don't worry about me," Ethan deflected.

"We've got a spare bedroom you can stay in tonight, if you like." He seemed to waver in front of her, like smoke that might vanish at any second, and Alexis wanted to hold on to him as long as possible.

Ethan shook his head. "I don't think that's such a good idea. I'm on the run from some people who will stop at nothing to catch me."

"If you're worried about bringing disaster down on the house because you sleep for a few hours in our spare bedroom, don't be. I told you, my dad works with cops, and he's been a target a couple of times. His loft is, like, one of the most secure places to stay in the entire city, short of an official government building."

Ethan looked uneasy. "I really shouldn't," he said. "I'm very, very bad luck."

"I don't believe in bad luck," Alexis said, "and maybe you'll get some real sleep."

Ethan still seemed reluctant, but he said, "Okay, but I'll be gone as soon as I can."

"Stop it," Alexis said. "It'll be fine. Come on; we'll take a cab."

Ethan glanced out the window, and Alexis shouldered her backpack and tugged her phone out of her pocket. Ethan followed her out of the cafe, constantly checking around him. As she dialed her dad's phone, she wondered if it was paranoia, or if people were really following him. She would have labeled it paranoia, except that it seemed like anyone who was looking for Johanna Beckett these days was just asking to be a target.

"Hey, pumpkin!" her dad answered.

"Hey, dad," Alexis said.

"What's up, kid?" he asked.

"Where are you?"

"At the loft. Why?" He sounded cheery. Alexis hated to ruin that; it had been so long since he was really and truly happy. But she would have to warn him that Ethan was looking for Johanna Beckett.

"Is Kate there?"

"Not right now. Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine. I know it's kind of short notice, but is it okay if I come by?"

Alexis could hear the worry creeping into her father's voice. "Of course you can. You know that."

"Thanks, Dad. I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye, pumpkin."

Alexis hung up and breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ There aren't very many people reading this, apparently, but if you lot want to read it, it's up to date over on my AO3 (same pen name). I'm trying to upload it here, too, but the transfer is slow work, and with only 12 readers at the moment (according to my stats), it's not exactly top-priority for me. If you want me to update a little faster, maybe give me some thoughts on the story so far, or follow the story so I know you're interested._


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